In Memory of
by Quiver
Summary: To short for a blurb.


**Disclaimer**_: I do not own Darkwing Duck, Scrooge or any other Disney character._

_**Authors Note: **Warning! Not a lot of thought put into this one. Just one of those spontaneous ideas you get for no apparent reason_. ;)

_**In Memory of...**_

The sun shined bright that Memorial Day evening in St. Canard. The cemetery, usually reputed for being a solitary place had been crowded with those paying their respect to their dearly departed. Morning and afternoon, people had been coming in flocks to visit the graves of their loved ones. As the day went by, the crowds thinned out. Now only a few late comers were scattered about the cemetery grounds.

An elderly duck, in a wheelchair, accompanies by a nurse entered the grounds. He was small in stature, dressed in formal suit with spats and wearing thick spectacles. A large bouquets of mixed flowers, all of them shades of purple, rested in his lap.

The old duck looked around the large graveyard "I'm not sure where he'd be buried," he admitted to the nurse.

The young nurse smiled warmly at her charge "I'm sure somebody like him won't be hard to find." She looked around at all the different markers "I'm sure he'd have a special monument in his honor."

She began to push the wheelchair around the grounds slowly, watching for a salient

memorial, certain to be decorated in a countless number of flowers and bouquets.

Two hours passed. They had covered the entire cemetery grounds without finding the marker of the one they sought. The nurse saw the crestfallen look on the old ducks face and tried to cheer him up. "Perhaps were should check the..."

"No,no." the old duck injected waving a shaky whithered hand in the air. "It's no good. He's not here. He's not here." he said disheartened.

The nurse was silent for a moment then said softly "Surely they did something in his honor Mr Hooter. A memorial of _some_ kind. After all he _was_ Darkwing Duck."

The old duck shook his head sadly. "No. They didn't. I guess I knew that in my heart. That's why I...I waited so long," he began to wheeze as he spoke. "I waited so long to come, I suppose. I didn't want to think St. Canard would let him pass away without paying tribute to a fallen hero." The old mans eyes grew sad as he thought back all those years ago. He had long since left St. Canard and SHUSH do to declining health. He had moved to the soothing tropics of Hawaii to spend his remaining years in comfort. It had not been long after that he'd received the news from SHUSH. Darkwing had been killed in the line of duty. J Gander had been heartbroken, even more so, because his condition prevented him from returning to St. Canard to pay his last respects.

At J. Ganders request, SHUSH had sent him anything telling of the Masked Mallards death. There had been a short article in the newspaper mentioning the demise of Darkwing Duck, but no more. Not even how he'd died or how he'd dedicated his life to protecting a city that was utterly thankless to him.

If J. Gander had still been in charge of SHUSH, he would have seen that Darkwing was given a ceremony befitting a hero. But Grizlykoff had become the new director after he'd left and had absolutely refused to acknowledge Darkwing's association with SHUSH as anything but a mistake on the part of his predecessor.

Even though SHUSH had ignored Darkwing's years of service and sacrifices, J. Gander had convinced himself that the city would give him at least a courteous observance. But apparently not. Their was not even a simple marker in his honor.

J. Gander heaved a deep sigh as he watched the few people that were now there, paying respects to those who had passed on. An elderly lady, barely able to walk lay a bouquet of white roses on the grave of her recently departed husband.. A father and three children, each carrying a tulip to place on the grave of their mother. A young woman with her fiery red hair pulled back in a braid, sat down at the grave of her father and wept. She placed a homemade bouquet of wildflowers on the grave infront of her.

"Let's go." he finally told the nurse sadly. As they were departing the graveyard, J. Gander watched the faces of the mourners and wondered if anybody anywhere was morning the passing of the late hero, did anybody even remember the name Darkwing Duck? J. Gander spoke to the nurse as they went. "You know. They never really knew him. I f they had, they'd have appreciated him so much more. He wasn't just a hero to people he was a friend to me and to many others. If anybody needed him, he was always there for them. But all the world saw him as was an egotistic caped clown. They never really knew him and it was their loss."

As they passed by the people there J. Gander happened a glance at the grave the young woman was visiting. It wasn't fancy but it was nice. There were several bouquets of flowers decorating the grave. If they could have given Darkwing even that much, but nobody ever really appreciated Darkwing Duck for who he _really_ was.

The young woman lifted her eyes as they passed her and she forced a polite smile through the fresh tears. J. Gander nodded thoughtfully in return.

When they had passed she looked again at the headstone and the engraving that read **_"Drake Mallard, Beloved father, trusted friend and so much more. The world was a better place because of him."_**

**THE END....**


End file.
